Just. Don't. Land.

[athighnoon]

They plucked your feathers, broke your wings,
then they decided to throw you up into the sky....
They thought you'd soar though you were broken,
for isn't it your very nature to fly?

They could only watch in amazement
as you fluttered and spiralled to the ground,
gaping at your twitching frame,
They couldn't grasp why you're now earthen-bound.

(Just don't land, baby,
No albatross's fate for you.
No time for tucked up winglets,
You've got some flapping to do.)

Will they now have the audacity to hold you,
To try and fix the wounds inflicted?
Or is that fascination in their eyes,
To see you so terra-nova afflicted?

There's no strength in your pinions,
The wind in your hair's just a gray memory,
And those horizons you're now studying
Are the last you'll ever see...

(Just don't land, baby,
No albatross's fate for you.
No time for harbored doubts,
You've got some soaring to do.)

There's no earth that can chain you, love,
And your gait isn't so steady on the ground.
It's only when you catch a warm up-draft
that your true freedom can be found.

Even down on earth, we angel's amputees
can remember the sensation of flying in our dreams,
Though we always end up falling from heaven,
our wings are muscle-tucked and skin-seamed.

(Just don't fly too far baby,
I've no way to call you back to me..
Though if one choice must be made,
Fly on, broken wings and all, fly free.)

Dedicated to Danielle Rogers,
1987-2006

You're really free, now.